


Boxing Day

by viewingcutscene



Series: A Very Talon Christmas [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Fist Fights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viewingcutscene/pseuds/viewingcutscene
Summary: “Time was you wouldn’t let yourself come undone over a relationship gone sour,” Reyes said from behind him.“Time was I gave a damn what you thought about me.”





	

The letters on the motel sign opposite the room’s tiny patio danced in the heat that rose off the baked and cracking pavement of the parking lot as Jesse slid open the glass door. He slouched out in bare feet, grimacing as the hot concrete seared his damp soles, and lit up a smoke. He judged it to be sometime in the early afternoon, by the sun’s glare and general stillness of a city that partook of _siestas_ to beat the heat _._ Dragging smoke deep into his lungs, he ran his fingers through his wet hair, attempting to untangle the snarls that had grown there since Hanzo had told him he’d met someone else, and gave it up as a bad job after a few minutes. Had to be a barbershop ‘round these parts. Why not get a new look? 

The hairs on his chest and arms curled as they dried in the crisp heat, and his worn jeans began to move a little more freely instead of clinging and chafing at every damp patch as he finished his cigarette. Jesse eased into a precious sliver of shade between the wall and the patio door as the metal of his arm grew too hot for the skin around it. A desiccated lizard lay on the concrete, legs moving sluggishly, inches away from invading the motel room, caught by the unforgiving sun. Wherever the rains were this winter, they hadn’t been seen here in weeks.

“I know how you feel, little buddy.” He nudged the creature into the dead grass with a toe. 

It was hard to say what was more unbelievable about the past few days – receiving a message from Amélie fuckin’ LaCroix, of all people, inviting him out for Christmas Eve, encountering instead the mysterious Los Muertos hacker responsible for the chaos in Dorado, or going on a joyride across the Southern United States to evade Russian mercenaries with Talon gang members. Jesse wasn’t so touched in the head yet to think this was all for his benefit and not some greater purpose, but the events and subsequent barhopping through Juarez gave him a few hours respite from worrying over Shimada like a dog with a bone.

 A cold shower and increasing sobriety brought the despair raging back to the surface. Reyes had ghosted out of their shared room sometime before dawn, and neither Sombra nor Amélie had made an appearance yet. He should just take the car and get out of here. Let Talon handle themselves. The million-dollar question was: go where? He hated to admit it, but the untender mercies of hard drinking and outwitting vigilante goons was a damned sight better than the thoughtful compassion that Winston and Athena would’ve provided. The sad truth was he was exactly where he should be. He sighed heavily, and lit up another smoke.

“Time was you wouldn’t let yourself come undone over a relationship gone sour,” Reyes said from behind him.

“Time was I gave a damn what you thought about me.”

Reyes slouched against the frame of the sliding doors leading to their room, still wearing his civilian clothes, black long-sleeved shirt over black pants, even in ninety-degree heat.  Guns slung low over his hips in holsters that hugged his thighs. Ballcap tugged down to shadow the ruin of his face. He unearthed a cigarette from his pants pocket, crumpled, half-smoked but functional. “Light?”

Not wanting to hand over his lighter – a lone survivor of his Deadlock days – Jesse passed his smoke to Reyes, who put it between his lips and lit the other from the cherry. Blowing a cloud of smoke into the air between them, Reyes grinned, skull-like under the shadow of his cap. Jesse took back the bedraggled cigarette instead, the casual petty insolence itching under his skin as much as the stale and linty taste.

“Shimada ain’t shit,” Reyes said. “You’re better off.”

There were a million things he wanted to say. _He’s better than you._ _At least he has a sense of honor. He was strong and smart and composed and that dam broke, just for you alone, it was like a fireworks show in your gut._ What came out instead was, “He didn’t want to become a killer like me.  That’s more’n fair.” Shit.

Reyes started laughing, a horrible, choked sound. “Become? Hanzo Shimada was a hard boiled murderer long before you ever laid eyes on that pea-shooter you keep under your pillow.”

“Can the shit, Reyes. Don’t you forget who put that gun in my hand, or told me who to point it at.”

“We also got you educated, gave you a family. Or did you forget all that in your swan dive into self-pity? All the Deadlock gang had for you was an early death or lifetime in prison.”

Jesse stopped himself reaching for the lighter. He had a bad habit of touching it like a talisman when nervous or upset, something Reyes knew too well. “A choice like that was no choice at all, Reyes. Damn it, you know that better than anyone.”

“Seemed happy enough with the bargain then,” Reyes said. “We were all young and stupid once. Seems like you ended up old and stupid, too. Pity.”

Crouching down, Jesse extinguished the butt by sweeping it across the concrete, leaving a black smear of ash, before flicking it into the dry grasses. He stared down at his bare toes, view framed by straggles of hair, more streaked with grey than it had been a few weeks ago. He blew out a breath.  This conversation had been a long time coming; long before Hanzo had pressed send on that email. In a smooth, swift motion, he stood and closed the distance between himself and Reyes, gratified to see him take a half step back towards the room before catching himself. “Don’t hold back, Reyes. Tell me what you really think.”

 “Hanzo was raised by the Shimadas to be a weapon –“

“Like Genji was, for Overwatch?” Jesse said.

“Shut up. And listen.” To their mutual surprise, he did. Reyes grunted in approval, and continued. “Yes. Genji Shimada, created by Overwatch to dismantle the yakuza’s stranglehold. Do you think Overwatch could have controlled him, if his goals were not theirs?”

 To be honest, Jesse had never given much thought to it. Hanzo did not want to discuss his brother, with anyone, and he had respected that. It wasn’t until GenTek had gone public with its cybernetic successes earlier in the year that he had even recognized the connection between Overwatch and Genji Shimada’s transformation. Once the Shimada clan had been utterly destroyed, Genji had vanished from Overwatch’s ranks.

 “You were still doing train jobs with Deadlock gang when Hanzo ascended to power in Hanamura, and murdered his brother.”

 “He never hid that from me.”

“No,” Reyes said. “He wouldn’t. He was proud of it. It might eat him up inside, but he still believes he made the right choice.”

“Maybe it was,” he replied.

Reyes gave him a considering side-long look, but said nothing. He didn’t have to.  He’d already said it all, hadn’t he? “Old and stupid.” Seems like the old man was right. Again. Jesse’s gut churned with a combination of bile and self-loathing. But Reyes hadn’t risen to Blackwatch command through his reputation for kindness, and after some time, he continued to speak, hands clasped behind his back like an officer. 

“Hanzo, on the other hand, was the perfect weapon. Strong, deadly, rigidly obsessed with honour and order. Weapons don’t _think_ – or at least they didn’t, before the omnics came along and fucked everything – they just do. Shimada doesn’t _think_. Thinking makes him uncomfortable.”

“Isn’t that characterization a tad unfair?” Jesse scratched the back of his neck. This was more words than Reyes had said, in total, since becoming Reaper.

“Why do you kill?” This time it was Reyes who got into his face, cap’s brim brushing Jesse’s hair, eyes intent, faintly red in their ruined setting.  

“Y’know, I expect dinner and dancin’ before someone asks me something that personal,” Jesse said.

Reyes’ gaze flickered, searching Jesse’s face. “You do it because it’s necessary. The sad reality of beating the world into a better shape. You do it because you hope someday, killing won’t be necessary.”

Faintly embarrassed, though he couldn’t say why, Jesse looked away. “Seems like you’ve got my number, Reyes.”

 “Shimada doesn’t want a better world. He wants a tidier one. Someone bigger than him tells him to kill, he just asks, ‘How shall it be done?’” Reyes paused, held in a lungful of smoke. Let it trickle out his nostrils. “Took up Blackwatch so kids like you could hang up your revolver someday. You took it up so the kids coming after us wouldn’t need to. Did you know what kind of condition Genji Shimada was in when Overwatch scraped him off floor – and walls – of the Shimada Clan home?”

 “No,” Jesse said softly. The cigarette he planned to light crumbled in a clenched fist.

Reyes flicked the butt of his purloined smoke into the dry grass at his feet. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

 Through hot, dry eyes, Jesse watched the grass curl and wither, a fervent prayer in his heart for the excuse immolation offered. _Burn,_ _you fucker._ Anything was better than standing here getting dressed down by the ghost of a man he used to admire. Worship.  _Love._ A wisp of smoke curled straight up in the windless heat as the flame died. Reyes came closer.

“NO!” Jesse swung around and drove his fist into Reyes’ gut, grounded by all the unshed tears and heartache he’d carried for weeks. Reyes grunted and fell back half a step, one hand over his belly, scarred lips curved into a sickle-shaped grin.

 “Heh,” he said. “Almost believe you meant that.”

 Whatever he intended to say next was cut off in a whoosh of air as Jesse lowered his shoulder, and barreled into Reyes, driving him into the ground with the force of his momentum. The metal of Reyes’ guns dug into his thighs, and the black t-shirt crumpled in his fists baked his knuckles. He leaned down real close to Reyes’ face. “We never talked about his brother. We fought about politics, and watched terrible movies, and fucked on the floor in the dead of night. Genji _forgave_ him. Who am I to say he’s damned, instead?” Reyes flinched as tears spattered his face. Jesse hadn’t realized he was crying till then. “I never asked what happened to Genji. I didn’t want to know.”

A lonely cicada’s buzzing call sounded once, twice, in the distance.

A bar of iron choked off Jesse’s heaving breaths as Reyes laid into the soft flesh of his throat with an elbow, and bucked underneath to throw him off. He landed hard on his back, dry weeds prickling his bare skin as Reyes rolled on top of him and followed up with backhanded slap that made Jesse’s eyes water for a different reason altogether. Reyes’ voice was soft, dangerously so. “Always so predictable.  Another bad habit from Shimada.”

 A few years back, Jesse took an easy gig with Overwatch, herding some omnic big-wig around on a movie premiere tour. They’d saddled him with fresh meat, new recruits so shined up and hopeful, his heart ached to look at them, wondering if he’d ever been so young. Afterwards, when one of ‘em found out he’d never seen a hockey game before, insisted they attend one together. Jesse expected to be bored out of his skull, but Lucio’s commentary was alternately informative and hysterical, and the place did sell beer. They were huddled together under the dubious warmth of Jesse’s serape when the first fight broke out on the ice.

 “Hey,” Jesse said. “Now, here’s some genuine action!”

 “Best part of the game,” Lucio agreed, before cupping his hands around his mouth. “WHOA! Ref, that guy’s still got his stick. C’mon now!” He grunted in satisfaction as a third player came in, slapping away the offending hockey stick. The first brawler took advantage by grabbing his opponent’s jersey and tugging it over his helmet, effectively blinding him, and took turned landing bare-fisted blows on the exposed torso with his buddy.

 The memory flashed through Jesse’s mind so swiftly, he could almost feel the cool breath of the icy arena against his skin. Laying his hands on Reyes’ hips, he skimmed them up under the shirt, across the craggy landscape of his back, and tugged the t-shirt over Reyes’ head, tangling the baseball cap in it. His fingers tingled where they touched the bare skin, easy to ignore as Jesse threw his arm around the back of Reyes’ neck, driving quick jabs into the soft flesh surrounding Reyes’ kidneys.

 Harder to ignore was the firmer tingling occurring below the belt buckle, chafing against the still wet denim. “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Jesse muttered, as Reyes blindly headbutted him, trying to regain control of the encounter. When he first joined Blackwatch, he’d had a hero worship thing for Reyes. Touches exchanged while handing each other weapons; silent conversations held while on stakeout. He’d hoped – but Gabriel Reyes was a consummate professional, and no matter how he actually felt about Jesse McCree, he never let it get in the way of the job. When Reyes died in the explosion at headquarters, Jesse felt as if he would come apart at the atomic level, nuclear in his grief. Reuniting with Reyes, now the Reaper, might have sparked old feelings if Shimada hadn’t come along with his dark eyes and archer’s swagger. But now…

 Exposed to the afternoon sunlight, Reyes’ skin was ashy and grey. It _clung_ to Jesse’s fingertips as he struggled to keep hold, like hundreds of tiny suckers covered his flesh instead of skin. As they strained and rolled in the dust, it rippled and heaved, independent of the muscles beneath. Finally, Reyes got a knee up to pin Jesse down, and tear the shirt away, snarling with rage.

  _His face – oh my God._ _How can he still live?_

 Jesse never fully accounted for camouflage afforded by Reyes’ hats and hoodies. Whatever glamour Reyes worked with his civilian clothes couldn’t withstand the red glare of the sun. His face ran like hot wax, melting and reforming in undulating waves. In the thinner spots, the pearly gleam of bone, or the red flex of muscle. One eye was completely torn away, replaced with the artificial click and hum of cybernetic parts. His lips were ragged shutters over a perpetual skeletal snarl. Jesse’s hands fell limply away as he realized that this horror above him, the tattered remains of his beloved mentor –

 "I was lucky, compared to Genji,” whispered Reyes. Jesse covered his eyes and wept.

The pressure in his chest eased, bit by bit, as Reyes melted away. Another mystery. Another horror. The sunlight bled through his fingers, and his hangover returned with a vengeance.

“Hey, _vaquero_ , you gonna lie there all day, or what?” Sombra leaned out of the room next door, her cell phone loose in one hand.

 Jesse sat up, arms resting on his knees. Grass sifted down from his hair. “Yeah, it’s nice. You should try it sometime.” He narrowed his eyes at the upside down, disheveled cowboy on her phone screen. “Are you _recording_ me?”

 “Would I do something like th- ack!” She shouted in surprise as Jesse winged a rock at Sombra, knocking the phone to shatter on the patio flagstones. She stuck a finger in her mouth. “Okay, okay. Jeez.  You owe me a new phone, _guëy_.”

“Like that wasn’t a burner, anyway,” he said, causing her to smirk, as he got to his feet. That fact didn’t stop him from collecting the pieces, intending to crush them into a fine powder and flush the whole mess down the john later. Jesse ached all over, and nowhere more than his heart.

****

Thousands of miles and thirteen hours in the future, Hanzo Shimada’s phone beeps.

 


End file.
